


All The Lambs We Cannot See

by Fox_Katelia



Series: After the WAR [1]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Amren is having a wee bit of trouble, Do not read if you haven't finished, Elain is a smol bean, acowar spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 11:18:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10852890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_Katelia/pseuds/Fox_Katelia
Summary: ACOWAR spoilers.Do not read if you haven't finished the entire book.After the battle with Hybern, the Inner Circle has returned to Velaris to heal, and relax and live again. But Amren, changed from her foray into the Cauldron, can no longer eat the blood she once coveted, and is finding her replacements somewhat...lacking.Amren’s snarl would have sent a lesser male running. “I am not picky. I can’t even eat this food, for Mother’s sake! And if you make one comment about the lambs being so much more plentiful now that I’m not around to pilfer them, I will rip your rutting face off.”





	All The Lambs We Cannot See

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this was a little idea that occurred to me at three A.M. last night (er, morning) and I just had to write. Amren was quite smitten with her lamb's blood, and I wondered what she'd do without it. This crack fic was a little explanation of that. Enjoy!

I was reading in the House of Wind when it happened.

There was a crash from the study, followed by a muffled swear, and then something that sounded a great deal like _hissing._

I set down my book, half rising as Amren, who’d gone into the adjacent study twenty minutes earlier with no explanation, came stomping out, her now muted silver eyes narrowed and filled with enough wrath that Elain, standing by the windows, flinched and took a step back.

The short High Fae female strode over towards the stairs, her cropped shirt stained with something that looked suspiciously like carrot juice, muttering under her breath.

She looked murderous.

Feeling my hesitation and slight anxiety, Rhys stroked the bond, sending a concerned pulse along its glimmering edges. I sent back a wave of reassurance.

I shared a look with Elain before standing up and carefully saying, “Amren, are you…alright?”

A dangerous question. Even without her Otherness in the wake of the battle with Hybern, Amren was fierce, deadly and entirely unconcerned with pissing anyone off.

The Ancient One just shot me a glare over her shoulder as she left the room in a rage.

Elain was a bit pale and shaky, still recovering from the battle that had taken place a little over two months ago, but she sent me a look as she turned back to her position in the window, waiting for Azriel to return from one of his reconnaissance trips to the Day Court.

I sighed, pressing my fingers to my temples.

It seemed Amren’s search for a food she enjoyed was not going well.

* * *

When we arrived back in Velaris after that final battle, everything was perfect. We were all alive and together, and while things were still up in the air with the wall and peace with the humans, we had allies in Helion and Kallias and Miryam and Drakon. The rest would follow.

But then we realized that Amren, no longer the ancient being of Otherness she’d been before, would now have to eat normal food. _A time for celebration,_ Cassian had declared, smirking.

And it was. Until Amren decided she detested every food—fish, meat, pastry, fruit or vegetable—that passed her lips.

She’d been on the prowl for something that she enjoyed beyond keeping her passably alive (she’d become worryingly thin. If she wouldn’t have bitten my head off, High Lady or no, I would have said something to her) for weeks now.

She’d tried eating blood again—just once, right after we returned. She was retching into the toilet for half an hour, and was pissy towards everyone for days after. She’d cheerfully threatened to castrate Cassian if he didn’t stop imitating her vomiting.

Mor had looked almost too happy with that idea.

* * *

Dinner at the townhouse was different than when we ate at the House of Wind. It was more personal, a closeness bonding us together, a reminder that we were all alive and fighting.

We’d taken to eating there more and more often after the war.

Rhys had his hand on my right knee as he talked to Mor about something or other from across the table, and I savored the contact.

Ever since those few, agonizing minutes when he was dead…

I clenched my fork tightly in my fingers. Too tightly, as the metal bent slightly. That would always haunt me, no matter how many centuries I lived. These days, my nightmares weren’t about Hybern, or Amarantha, or the Attor, or even that cursed mirror beneath the Hewn City. They were about waking up and finding my mate stone cold beside me, those stunning violet eyes empty, that wicked mouth silent, in my mind, my heart, my soul.

Rhys didn’t look away from his cousin, but his fingers contracted on my bare skin, shifting aside the blue skirt of my dress, and his mind wove comfortingly around mine, sensing the turn my thoughts had taken.

I took a deep breath, reminding myself that it wasn’t true, that Rhys was here and safe and _alive_ beside me as I went back to listening to Nesta snip barbed words at Cassian.

I caught the words “bastard” “bitch” “snarly” “overprotective” and the tail end of the sentence, “—why don’t we see how well you’ll fuck all those willing little females when you’re favorite part has been severed from your body?” from Nesta and decided I didn’t want to know what they were talking about.

Elain, seated quietly beside me, was blushing fiercely at the foul words pouring out between our sister and the Illyrian warrior, and I shot her a sympathetic look, then mimed covering my ears.

She giggled nervously.

My gaze shifted beyond her, blocking out the sounds of Nesta and Cassian’s now heated arguing, towards the short narrow-eyed female glaring a hole in the table.  
Amren’s plate was completely empty, and I stifled the urge to force her to eat something. A little voice inside me—perhaps the spirit of my self-preservation, small though it was—told me it would be a bad idea.

I sent an image of me stuffing food down Amren’s throat to Rhys through the bond and his lips twisted into a smirk.

_I’d ask you to do that, darling,_ he said to me. _But I rather like your pretty breasts right where they are, within easy reach._

_Prick._

_One you love, and will faithfully cherish and worship—in all ways—for the rest of eternity._

I kicked him lightly under the table, and, ignoring his grin, turned to our Second, who was frowning at the ceiling. Her grey clothes were hanging off her thin shoulders, and that inner glow, that sated bloodlust, no longer glimmered in her eyes, her posture, her smile. If she even bothered to smile these days. Only Varian ever came close to getting her into a good mood—no doubt by sating her hunger of another type. I chose not to think about that. Tarquin and I had already drawn lots with who had to deal with them at the winter solstice this year. I’d drawn the short end of the stick, so we were stuck with the two of them during the festivities. I didn’t want to imagine the carnage they’d wreak on Velaris.

I opened my mouth to speak—perhaps to demand that she eat something, regardless of flavor or enjoyment, but the voice that came out wasn’t my own.  
“Amren, won’t you please eat something?”

Conversation at the table came to a halt at Elain’s soft words, but my sweet sister had eyes only for the female at the end of the table.

Amren bared her teeth. “Nothing fits the appetite, girl.” She sniffed. “I almost wish Rhysand had left me to flounder in that cursed darkness, then deal with this endless hunger.”

I knew she didn’t mean it, knew she was grateful to be back, but I still said, “Perhaps you could try something new?”

Amren turned her snarl on me, but Rhys’s low growl had her backing off. As if indeed whatever power had smoldered in her veins was now dormant.

Cassian cut in, his smirk razor edged and brimming with tension from his spat with Nesta. I still didn’t know exactly what was going on with those two, or if they’d talked about the kiss on the battlefield. “Oh, relax, Tiny One. You could try a little harder not to be so picky.”

Amren’s snarl would have sent a lesser male running. “I am not picky. I can’t even eat this food, for Mother’s sake! And if you make one comment about the lambs being so much more plentiful now that I’m not around to pilfer them, I will rip your rutting face off.”

Cassian didn’t seem remotely cowed by her threat, only more invested in playing with her temper, to see how much of a reaction he could garner, but I cut in sharply, “Enough, Cassian. The lamb jokes are getting old.”

Amren looked a bit pleased, then Rhys braced his forearms on the table and drawled, “As much as this amuses me, I have to agree with the others. If you can’t find a food you enjoy, Amren, then find one you can stand. When Azriel returns, we’ll see about contacting the other courts for options you might enjoy more.”

Amren looked like she would have fully enjoyed slashing my mate’s face to ribbons, but Elain, ever the peacemaker, said, “Well, what if you tried simply flavoring food to taste like blood” she looked a bit queasy when she said that “but without it’s degenerative effects on your stomach?”

Silence.

Mor put down her fork.

We all stared at her, and my sister fidgeted, pink coloring her pale cheeks. “It was just an idea…” She seemed to cave in on herself.

But Rhys, raising an eyebrow, said, “And it was a brilliant one. We have access to some of the best spices in the world here. I’m sure we can find something that dear Amren will enjoy.” He turned to the female. “What do you say?”

She narrowed her eyes, looking rather suspiciously at Elain, but then gave a terse nod and an ever shorter, “Fine.”

I wasn’t surprised. She was always cranky when she was hungry.

* * *

We had one of the cooks bring us some spices, and after a few nerve wracking minutes of experimentation (during which Cassian and Mor got into a food fight and Rhys made me flush a deeper shade of red than I ever had when he told me that he was going to lick the whipped cream they’d gotten on my chest off me tonight. It made me eager for dinner to be over), we found a few combinations that seemed to work.

Amren tasted them all (and once had to throw a platter at Cassian when he snuck a bit of his smelly sock into one variation, making her throw it up in the bathing room). I thought she was going to pick the paprika mixed with granulated salt and pepper, but after a moment of glaring concentration, she reached across and grabbed a vile of turmeric and basil, dumped it over her food, tasted, and said, “Perfect. I’ll see you all later.”

Then she stood and turned and left, clutching the spices to her chest.

We stared after her retreating form, a bit stupefied.

After a moment of silence, all Cassian could say was, “Well, at least the lambs will be happy.”


End file.
